A Very Hogwarts BakeOff
by Tea for Lupin
Summary: Dumbledore has added a bake-off to the competition for the House Cup, and each Head of House is required to compete. Hilarity, undoubtedly, will ensue. But who will make the best cake? Various POV - primarily Snape, McGonagall, Sprout & Flitwick. Chapter 6 now up!
1. Chapter 1

Many thanks to Squibstress, who made a very passing reference to a HP bake-off on her LiveJournal… I simply wasn't able to resist.

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><p>It was the day before the start of the school year, and a number of memos were winging their way through Hogwarts Castle.<p>

Pomona Sprout carefully rescued the little parchment aeroplane from a tangle of Venomous Tentacula seedlings before it became tattered into illegibility, took off her gloves and unfolded it. Her eyes widened in appreciation as she perused its contents. 'Well now,' she said. 'This should be fun!'

Minerva McGonagall's memo found her at her desk. She read it with increasingly raised eyebrows, then, with a short exasperated sigh and thoroughly disapproving look, filed it neatly away under 'To Do' in the tartan shortbread tin with Undetectable Extension Charm.

Filiius Flitwick chuckled and charmed the parchment back into its flying form, adding a few little puffs of cloud for it to whizz around for good measure. 'A marvellous challenge, indeed. Now – let me see…' And he Summoned the ladder that allowed him to reach the highest shelves of his bookcase.

Severus Snape glanced at the memo with distaste edged with trepidation; the infernal object continued to bump insistently against his shoulder, despite his attempts to ignore it. One brief scan of its contents and he immediately Incendioed it, treating its smoking ashes to one final glare before billowing out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

'…And now, one final thing before we all dig in to our feast, which I am certain will be equally splendid as usual.' Albus Dumbledore beamed around the Great Hall at the students, old and new, seated expectantly at their tables. 'It is my very great pleasure to announce an additional challenge in the competition for the House Cup this year.' He quieted the incipient hubbub with a wave of his hand. 'Yes, this very term will see the first – possibly of many, but we'll see how it goes – the first Hogwarts Head of House Bake-Off!'

'I am going to hex him into the next decade for this,' Severus muttered to Minerva as the four Heads stood to receive the students' slightly flabbergasted applause.

'Only if I don't get him first,' she replied darkly.

'Where does he come up with these gods-damned fool ideas?'

Minerva sighed, and rolled her eyes. 'Don't even ask, Severus,' she said. 'Don't even ask.'

True to student form, it was only a couple of days later that the professors found themselves regularly having to break up betting rings and confiscate the more obnoxious items of House Bake-Off partisanship. Amongst the most notable of the latter were the large badges featuring a photograph of Minerva McGonagall - presumably taken at the Welcome Feast - seated at the head table behind a large, cream-and-strawberry-decorated chocolate cake.

The picture was captioned, in big letters:

_This is a picture of Professor McGonagall and a chocolate cake._

When the badge was pressed, these words blinked out to be replaced with:

_Your entry is invalid._

'My goodness, those Weasley twins!' Pomona murmured, shaking her head as she Banished a pile of said badges to the locked chest where she kept the bits and pieces she had taken from students over the years. (She hadn't thought the badges really deserved to be confiscated, but Severus had been _quite_ insistent.) 'If only they would use their powers for good…!'

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><p>AN: no apologies for gratuitous meme-age. :-P


	3. Chapter 3

When Severus had been a student at Hogwarts, there had been a few nights – well, more than a few, if he was completely honest – when he had crept into the library after hours to browse the books in the Restricted section. The fear of discovery he had felt on those occasions was as nothing compared with the sinking dread he now experienced as he slunk (unobserved, he hoped) into an area of the library never previously explored by him: Magical Cookery.

With a ferocious scowl Severus scanned the titles. None of them looked particularly promising.

_Casseroles from the Cackling Cauldron_

_50 Dangerous Plants You've Never Wanted to Eat – Until Now!_

_Mrs Beetle's Book of House Elf Management_

_The Virtuous Book of Vibrant Vegetables_

Perhaps that last one might be worth a look… the house elves made pumpkin cakes and carrot cakes, after all. Severus took _The Virtuous Book of Vibrant Vegetables_ off the shelf, but no sooner had he opened it to scrutinise the index than a loud burst of song erupted from it.

'Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Halle-' The book made a slight choking sound as Severus, horrified, slammed it shut and shoved it away faster than if it were a baby dragon. _Merlin's crusty –_

His expletive train of thought was interrupted by the appearance of Madam Pince, whose expression suggested that Severus' presence was only marginally preferable to that of a Triple-Headed Bookworm. How long could the woman hold a grudge? That incident with the splatter of Bubotuber pus was years ago, and he had replaced the book from his own funds, for Merlin's sake.

'Oh, it's you, Professor Snape,' the librarian said disapprovingly.

Severus acknowledged her with a curt nod. 'Madam Pince. Perhaps you can assist me? I am trying to find a book containing recipes for-' he gritted his teeth and managed to get the word out '—cakes. There do not appear to be any on the shelf.'

'No, Professor McGonagall borrowed all of our repertoire of baking books not an hour ago,' Madam Pince said, straightening the slightly disarranged books with a tut-tut. 'They are due back in two weeks.'

Severus marvelled - with a look on his face that boded ill for the House points of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and, most especially, Gryffindor - at the very, very bizarre constellation of circumstances which saw him, later that day, going to ask Minerva McGonagall for the loan of a recipe book.


	4. Chapter 4

'Now that's all for today,' Pomona said, as the class packed away their gloves and books, 'but don't forget - a roll of parchment on the five types of food preferred by the Shrieking Spikenard, as well as its ideal growing conditions, due Tuesday week!'

One student remained behind, hovering by Pomona's desk a touch timidly; Patrick O'Neill, one of her Hufflepuff second years. 'Um, excuse me, Professor Sprout...' he said, 'but have you got a minute?'

'Of course, Mr O'Neill, what is it?' Pomona put down her secateurs and smiled encouragingly.

O'Neill thrust a neatly-wrapped brown paper package at her. Pomona took it with some surprise. 'It's for the bake-off,' the boy said hastily, turning rather pink about the ears. 'Me Dad, he's a baker - always wins prizes at the County Shows, back home. So when I heard about the bake-off I owled him to send some recipes... Just in case you wanted to give them a try. Of course you don't have to...'

Pomona patted his shoulder and carefully unwrapped the parcel to reveal - judging by the splodges of batter that adorned its cover - a well-used volume. It was entitled _A Cauldron of Delights: 1001 Cakes, Pies, Puddings and Biscuits_. A beaming witch dressed in the style of approximately a century past wiped her hands on her apron and cheerfully waved a wooden spoon.

'Written by me gran,' O'Neill said with a shy pride, indicating the picture. 'She was Hufflepuff too, way back.'

'This is very thoughtful of you, Mr O'Neill,' Pomona said, putting the book down carefully in one of the few clean spots on her workbench. 'I'll be delighted to look through it. Thank you very much, and tell your father so too. Now run along, or you'll be late for lunch.'

When O'Neill had trotted off Pomona washed her hands thoroughly and picked the book up again. She was genuinely touched by the boy's gesture; this was clearly a family heirloom that had been lent her. As she turned the pages in the 'Cakes' chapter, a few recipes caught her eye:

_Mary Morgan's Gingerbread with Bite_ (sounded delicious - but would the house elves keep fanged ginger on hand? Perhaps she could ask them to order some); _Pumpkin Surprise Cake_ (Pomona's eyebrows went up as she read through _that_ recipe); _Apple and Plum Shortcake with Firewhiskey Cream_ (couldn't serve that to the students, more's the pity - but perhaps on a Friday night with Minerva? Although all things considered Minerva was just as likely to say bugger the cake and head straight for the whiskey...)

Merely looking at the book was making Pomona hungry; she hurried back to the Castle as quickly as her plump form could manage, the recipe book tucked carefully under one arm.


	5. Chapter 5

Minerva surveyed the pile of cookbooks. She'd let Severus take only one - after all, it was she who had borrowed them, and it was more than her life was worth should Madam Pince discover that even one of the precious volumes had been re-loaned without authorisation. Still, Minerva was fairly confident that she could rely on Severus' discretion.

She smiled briefly at the recollection of their exchange over the matter. It had, of course, been prime baiting material. 'You're a Master of Potions, Severus,' she had said, with more than a touch of smirk and her best superciliously-raised eyebrow for good measure. 'Do you mean to tell me you can brew the Mandrake Restorative Draught, or even Wolfsbane Potion - but you can't make a cake?'

'In case it has somehow escaped your notice, Minerva, I have essentially lived in this castle since I was _eleven years old_,' Severus replied, his tone so acid it could have etched steel. 'When precisely, pray tell, would I have needed to turn my attention to something as _mundane_ as baking?'

They'd bickered back and forth for a while longer - no sense in letting such an excellent opportunity go to waste - and at length Minerva had 'relinquished' one of the books she'd already decided she didn't want to use anyway. That, however, still left half a dozen arcane tomes sitting on her desk.

Arcane? Yes - because loath as she was to admit it, Minerva could avoid the unpleasant truth no longer.

She did not know the first thing about cooking.

Not even oatcakes. Not even porridge, in fact - much to the eternal shame of her Scottish forebears, she was sure.

In Transfiguration of foodstuffs she was naturally as well-versed as anyone could be. Alas, Dumbledore had been adamant that, while magical embellishment of the final products was perfectly acceptable - indeed, encouraged - the foundation of each entry had to be an actual, honest-to-goodness, edible cake.

'Merlin help me,' Minerva growled to herself, 'come Christmas I'll turn all his woolly socks into thistles.' And with a groan of exasperation she began to leaf through Madam Dumpling's _Magical Cakes for the Very Beginner_.


	6. Chapter 6

One little-known fact about Filius Flitwick was that - in addition to his prodigious talents in Charms and duelling - he was an excellent cook, thanks in large part to the influence of his mother. Madam Flitwick had firmly believed that each of her children should have every advantage with which she could provide them, including the ability to produce mouth-watering dishes for any meal of the day.

From a young age - and that _was_ some considerable time ago - Filius had loved helping out in the kitchen, and if his particular delight was to produce marvelously whimsical decorations for cakes and desserts, no one who saw or tasted them could possibly blame him.

'Of course, I am sadly out of practice,' Filius explained to a tea-towel-swathed gaggle of house elves. They were watching, awed, as he stood atop a wooden stool in the Hogwarts kitchen, conducting a symphony of eggs, beaters, bags of flour, spatulas and melted butter with supremely delicate flicks of his wand.

'Mr Charming Professor must not be so modest!' squeaked one of the elves, and there were numerous supportive murmurs. 'Mr Charming Professor is a master of baking!'

A few minutes later Filius' audience burst into spontaneous and hearty applause as he sent a brimming cake tin zooming into the oven. He hopped down from his stool with a broad smile, and gave a little bow. 'I'll be back to check on it in about three quarters of an hour,' he said happily, turning a knob on a large silver pocket-watch.

That evening there was a chorus of appreciative 'oohs' and 'aahs' when Filius brought his sample cake into the Ravenclaw common room. It was perfectly cooked, dense, and _just_ the right side of too rich. Within the surface of its dark satiny glaze golden constellations shimmered and swirled; an edible variation, Filius explained to his astounded Ravenclaws, of one of the charms used on the roof of the Great Hall.

'Did you use Crinkle-Barked Snakker Tree sap, or just regular chocolate?' Miss Lovegood asked in her usual half-dreaming manner, fork poised thoughtfully over her slice.

'Nothing but Honeyduke's finest chocolate, Miss Lovegood,' Filius assured her.

'Mm, yes, that's probably just as well,' she replied, taking a bite. 'Chocolate does taste rather better, after all, and it doesn't make you swell up and turn purple as a general rule, either.'

(Filius wondered with some trepidation how quickly the Weasley twins would get hold of this interesting bit of information and be on the hunt for Crinkle-Barked Snakker Tree sap. He resolved to mention the matter to Madam Pomfrey the next day, just in case she needed to lay in stores of some kind of antidote. He wouldn't trouble Minerva with the possibility yet, though; she had, of late, been looking particularly preoccupied.)


End file.
